> I had to ram the blade of the shovel into the head of that animal about 30 times before it actually died.
And the second:
> I emptied an entire barrel full of shot into the possum, aiming for its head. After 50 pulls, I ran out of BBs.
> I would have sharpened the knife first, but now I was just committed to using the wrong tool for the job. It was terrible. I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, grunting and screeching a little with the effort. At one point, the possum grabbed onto the knife with its teeth and had enough life left to gnaw at the tape with such ferocity I thought it would wrest the knife from the broomstick.
And the eight babies of the second animal:
> I grabbed each tiny sneezing possum, plopped it into the bucket, and covered the top with an old piece of plywood. When it was over, I put all eight bodies, along with their mother, to rest in the municipal green bin. Thank God for Bay Area household composting.
This is little more than the cold recollections of a murderer. She exhibits no growth, no regret. She admits that the small amount of compassion she would have for her chickens would be due to "peer pressure."
At least this article is an excellent resource to share with would-be urban farmers.